Not Like His Mother
by USxArthurxKirklandxUK
Summary: Greece looked so much like his mother; but when it comes to mannerisms, well… not so much. "Morning After" fic, ONE-SHOT, TurkeyxGreece


**Not Like His Mother**

**Summary: Greece looked so much like his mother; but when it comes to mannerisms, well… not so much. "Morning After" TurkeyxGreece**

**A/N: My first TurkeyxGreece fic; I've recently begun role playing as Greece, and decided to do this as a gift for my Turkey for the hell of it and to get back into my writing rut. It, in all likelihood, sucks, but... Please, try to enjoy the fluff and ignore my fail!**

**Sadiq = Turkey**

**Heracles = Greece**

**Athena = Ancient Greece**

~*~*~*~TurkeyxGreece~*~*~*~

Though Sadiq was loathe to admit it, he had first taken an interest in Heracles because of his looks. It would take an idiot not to recognize the Greek as beautiful—and Sadiq was no idiot. Greece had that whole messy-sexy-bed head going for him almost all the time—sex hair, he had called it once, and then been smacked by an indignant Greek who had introduced the Turk to a few new phrases in Greek that he had never known before. But that's what it looked like. Messy and curly and always a little rumpled—as if someone had ran their fingers through it, gripped it, pulled it.

He had beautiful skin, as well. He should have been as dark as Sadiq was, with how often he fell asleep on those sunny ruins, but he wasn't. He wasn't pale, either—he was a nice golden color, warm and sunny and pleasant. The skin where he was covered up a majority of the time—mainly his thighs and that beautiful, smooth ass of his—was paler, and there was a definite tan line from the tank top he so often wore while digging for ruins, but it was less noticeable than the sight of his tanned arms next to his pale thighs.

Uneven skin shouldn't look so cute.

In short, really, there was no denying it. Heracles looked like his mother. He almost seemed to be her photo copy sometimes. Hell, he even had that weird way of smiling—that awkward turning up of the lips, where only the corners moved, and he almost never showed his teeth. It was a rare smile—just like Athena's had been. Even that curly bed head was like hers, though she had at least attempted to tame it. And that skin. She'd had pale thighs, too. The two were perfectly imperfect, with their uneven skin and messy hair and weird smiles and that way they looked at him on those rare occasions, like they were looking right through him…

Looking at Greece now, it was hard to think of how fiery he was, how he wouldn't hesitate to cuss Sadiq out in that calm way of his. Greece was curled up in bed—Sadiq's bed, a place he had never expected to see the man ever again, not after the fall of the Ottoman Empire—and he had one of his cats curled up to his chest. How the damned thing had followed him all the way here, Sadiq had no idea. He'd probably found it the day before in the street and had decided to keep it as a Turkish souvenir of some sort.

Heracles's lips were pink and swollen and wet, just as they had been the night before. He licked them in his sleep before he nuzzled into the soft fur of the cat in his arms. Athena had never been so relaxed while asleep. Even while sleeping, she had sported that slight downturn—that slight frown—on her lips. Heracles wasn't smiling, exactly, but he could see the curve of his mouth, as if he were amused by something.

It was odd. Though the Heracles and Athena looked so alike, so similar—hell, they even acted similar, at times—they were so different. Heracles was closer in mannerisms to that cat than he was to Athena.

So it was insulting when Heracles had asked him, as they were about to go to bed together last night, if that was Sadiq's reasoning behind bedding him.

Hell, if Sadiq wanted Athena back, he would just have to wait until he was dead, wouldn't he? Because Hera sure as hell wasn't Athena—he was uppity and demeaning, looking down on the Turk half the time, and laughing at his pain the other half. But then… then, came those odd, strange moments. The moments when Heracles would smile a bit, and curl against him, and whisper something Sadiq didn't recognize in Greek into his ear (he should really get around to learning the damn language besides asking where the bus stop was). Sadiq found those moments worth the long wait between them.

Sadiq had to work damn hard for Heracles's affections, just as some poor sucker had to work for a cat's.

Heracles shifted in his sleep, groaning, and the cat in his grasp meowed softly. Heracles's hold on it tightened reflexively, and it growled softly, slipping out of his arms and stalking away, a rather irritable look on its small, heart-shaped face. It glanced back, almost as if it were thinking twice about its actions, before it scampered away to take up residence on Sadiq's crumpled jacket in one of the corners, where it had fallen in a flurry of removed clothing last night, watching the two men on the bed with something akin to wariness. If a cat could feel such a thing, that is.

Yup. Heracles was definitely a damned cat. The harder one tried to hold onto him—the further away he would go.

Heracles stirred then, and Sadiq realized that he had been chuckling to himself. "The hell's so funny? Stupid Turk." The man's murmuring was sleepy at first, but grew with awareness as he began to fully come around to the world of the living. Heracles sat up, the muscles and sinew of his body rippling beneath that unevenly-tanned skin that Sadiq found he had a new fondness for, and rubbed an eye. Sadiq laughed openly now, but quietly.

"Jus' thinkin' 'bout you," he replied, chancing a quick kiss to Greece's neck, followed by a nip. The move caught the younger nation by surprise, and Sadiq supposed he deserved the punch to the temple he received in retaliation.

"What about me?" Heracles questioned. The expression on his face wasn't pleased; he didn't like being laughed at, apparently. That only made Sadiq's chuckle deepen.

"Hmm. I was thinking that you're not like 'er."

"Like who?"

"Yer mother."

Heracles stiffened immediately. Sadiq knew what a touchy subject the woman was for him—particularly when it came to Sadiq's view on her. They were both aware of the feelings the Turk had held for her. They both knew it, and perhaps they both denied it, as well. But then Heracles looked back over his shoulder as Sadiq pulled the smaller male into his lap, his arms locked around his waist securely but loosely. He didn't want his Greek running. "What do you mean…. Not like her?" Heracles asked hesitantly.

"Ya look like 'er. No denying that." A kiss to the throat, and again, Heracles stiffened, bristling. "Calm down, Hera." Heracles, as always, didn't listen. Another tic against Athena, the cats had gotten another point. "You look like 'er. Bu' you don' act like 'er. She wasn't this damn stiff an' uptight."

"You try to relax when you were just compared to—"

"Yer more like a cat."

That had Heracles puzzled, and he cut off his sentence, letting it hang unfinished. "A cat," he said at last.

"Yeah. A cat."

"If I'm a cat, then you're a mouse."

"I'm not a fucking rat."

"I didn't say rat, I said mouse." Now, it was Heracles's turn to laugh, and Sadiq could only shut him up when he slammed an irritable kiss to his mouth. He'd show that brat mouse. Sadiq was not one for much philosophical thinking. So any thought of what Heracles was like or wasn't like was lost in the kiss the two nations shared, battling for dominance even though everyone with half a brain cell knew who would win, who always won (no, Greece's independence didn't count, that was a fluke, a mistake, a glitch in the system and—God, where had Heracles learned to do that with his tongue?).

In spite of himself, the kiss slowly began to ebb, and turned gentle. God, he was turning into a fucking softie. But somehow, the feeling of Heracles's crooked smile against his lips was too welcome, and he just let himself become lost in it for a little while longer. Just a little longer. Then they could go back to hating each other like they always did, until one of them found their way into the other's bed and last night repeated itself. Just as it always did. It may not be traditional—but it worked for them, so what the hell. Why not?


End file.
